


Sameness

by choirboyharem



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Multi, One Shot, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 00:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20034961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choirboyharem/pseuds/choirboyharem
Summary: Bruce could still see the way they blended into each other. The same bodies, the same skilled hands, the same way they laughed, the same shapes that made up their features. And it was what Bruce let himself look for, the places where Jerome became Jeremiah and Jeremiah became Jerome.





	Sameness

**Author's Note:**

> i've been getting into the awful habit lately of writing random drabbles on tumblr and then dropping them on here as well. i'm sorry. i've got better and longer stuff in the works, i promise. anyway, an anon on tumblr suggested the idea of bruce having a twincest kink and i thought that was really hot, so, yeah. this is set vaguely in some timeline stranded in season four where jerome isn't dead.

Jerome and Jeremiah had begun their lives as identical twins. When Bruce had first met Jeremiah, he was overwhelmed with memories of five years prior, seeing Jerome’s face for the first time on TV and then again at the gala, all ghastly, horrid, traumatic things that had been etched into Bruce’s head as permanent marks. It was only a first impression and Bruce had been able to shake it easily from how immediately different Jeremiah was from his brother; how, at first, he was such a welcome, gloriously stable change (what irony), but it would still strike Bruce at certain moments. The comparison. It was impossible not to do such a thing. 

Jeremiah had the same sharp, dewy eyes, soft and green and grey, that would narrow and analyze people, size them up, try to help him understand what they were thinking. He had the same long, pretty fingers, large, capable hands that were capable of either great work or great chaos. Back when they were friends (or whatever they had been, it shouldn’t have mattered and Bruce still wished it didn’t), Jeremiah’s hair had still been bright, vivid red, carefully arranged and tended to with care. Before his transformation and, indeed, Jerome’s as well, they had been a mirrored image of each other. 

Now, physically, they shouldn’t have looked more different, but Bruce could still see the way they blended into each other. The same bodies, the same skilled hands, the same way they laughed, the same shapes that made up their features. And it was what Bruce let himself look for, the places where Jerome became Jeremiah and Jeremiah became Jerome. 

They were both terrors, haunted, zombified, despicable, loveless, evil young monsters who had torn Gotham apart at the seams and taken lives without regret or remorse and weren’t worthy of Bruce’s attention and deserved to be locked inside black boxes for the rest of their lives, but Bruce still sought this out, guilt and repulsion burning lowly inside him the entire time. He sought out bearing witness to their sin, their teeth tearing at each other, using the image and their desire to shock and entertain him as absolutely sickening gratification. 

Bruce watched them break their kiss. Jeremiah’s tongue fell past his red bottom lip as he panted softly, gazing down at Jerome. His eyes were hopelessly dark, focused and intense as though he’d forgotten Bruce was there. Blood and saliva welled on the tip of his tongue. Jerome’s hand was twisted in Jeremiah’s hair, dark green chunks gripped between his fingers. 

“Spit on him,” Bruce murmured, thinking of the blood that must’ve been in Jeremiah’s mouth from his bitten tongue. “Make him taste what he’s done.”

And Jeremiah did. The mess hit Jerome’s mouth and chin. Jerome giggled in pure delight and it made Jeremiah crack as well.

“Feeling particularly disgusting tonight, aren’t we, Brucie?” Jerome said, licking Jeremiah off his lips, watching his brother all the while. Jeremiah’s eyes flickered over to Bruce at the head of the bed. 

“Oh, of course he could be more creative than that,” Jeremiah scoffed, straightening up, straddling Jerome instead. His fingers splayed over Jerome’s scarred, stitched chest, deep with evidence of Jerome’s self-destruction. He let out a shivering sigh as Jerome’s cock pressed against his ass. He turned his head to look at Bruce, dazzled with affection and devotion. Bruce didn’t like the way it made his heart clench, trapped painfully in his chest. He tried to ignore it. 

“How are you going to play with your toys, Bruce?” Jeremiah said, his voice dripping with sugar as his fingers traced and explored Jerome’s body, as if he’d never done it before. As if this were the first time Bruce had snuck away in the night to see them in the dilapidated apartment complex the two were calling home while a mock-up of Jeremiah’s old home was being rebuilt. Jerome took Jeremiah’s wrist and jerked at his hand, pulling him down just enough to curl his tongue around and suck on Jeremiah’s fingers. Jeremiah shuddered, his eyes flashing. Bruce lost his train of thought for a moment, words sticking in his throat as heat twisted inside him. 

He swallowed. “Jeremiah,” he said, his voice low and scratched, “suck his cock. I want to see you choke. And I don’t want to see you touching yourself. If you do, he’s allowed to hurt you however he wants.”

“Bruce, darling, I always knew I was your favorite!” Jerome said, beaming at him and flinging Jeremiah’s hand away. Jeremiah snarled at him, a warning that Jerome dismissed entirely. It was the same-old, same-old _he’s mine and I’ll tear you limb from limb if you dare insinuate that you know him better than I do, you godforsaken freak, he’s mine, he’s mine_. 

“Jeremiah, behave,” Bruce said sternly. “Do as you’re told.”

“Of course. Anything for you, Bruce,” Jeremiah replied, honey-sweet again, giving him a wink. Bruce nearly rolled his eyes, but kept himself in check. He was above that. 

Most of Jeremiah’s lipstick had worn away while he and Jerome had been pulling each other’s clothes off, the smudged, scarlet marks decorating Jerome’s face and mouth and neck, some on his chest, some on his collarbone, some on his stomach. All far too pretty and delicate for the picture in front of Bruce, but it was still a claim, another way to say _he’s mine_. And so was the lip print around Jerome’s cock when Jeremiah slid his mouth down, a soft pink from how little lipstick was left on Jeremiah. 

The scratches gouged into each other’s backs and chests and thighs and hips was another claim. So were the bite marks. So were the cuts, evidence of knifeplay and clawing fingernails. They belonged to each other.

And they belonged to Bruce. Bruce could see the bruise on Jeremiah’s neck in the same place where Bruce had bit down on him four days ago. He could see the scratches on Jerome’s side in the same place where Bruce had scraped at him two days ago, gasping and feeling tears roll down his cheeks from pleasure as his hips rolled over Jerome, taking all of him in. They were his. They were between Bruce’s teeth, under lock and key inside his ribcage, tied to him with a ribbon on each wrist. 

They gave him the chance to see them like this, using each other as dolls meant to take pain and abuse. Their _sameness_. How perfectly and easily they fit together. Their codependency stitched them together and made them a hideous, beautiful, finished photograph. 

The guilt remained all the same, buried somewhere deep inside Bruce because it always would, but it was all too easy to forget about while he had his fingers around himself, watching them become playthings and listening to Jeremiah choke and gag around Jerome’s cock, hot, white slick running out of the corners of his mouth. 

“Watch this,” Jerome said to Bruce, breathless and trembling, his cracked scar of a mouth twisted into a gleeful smile before he pulled Jeremiah up, kissing him and his dripping, raw, swollen mouth. Spunk covered their tongues when Bruce saw the flash of them as their mouths moved. They both moaned, muffled and blissful against each other, and Bruce let out a harsh sob as he came over his chest and stomach. 


End file.
